Ships from the West (17 page)

‘So?’

‘So, there is something, some element or mineral in the very bowels of the Western Continent which is in effect the essence of the energy we know as
magic.
Pure theurgy, running like a vein of precious ore through the very bedrock of the earth. It is that which has made Aruan what he is.’

‘And you what you have become, I take it.’

‘This energy runs through the Hebros also, for the Hebros and the mountains of the Western Continent were once part of the same chain. That is why Hebrion has always been home to more of the Dweomer-folk than any other of the Five Kingdoms. That is why Hebrion had to fall. Golophin, you have no conception of the great researches that are underway, in the west, at Charibon, even in Perigraine. Aruan is close to solving an ancient and paramount riddle. What are the Dweomer-folk, and how were they created? Is it in fact possible to imbue an ordinary man with the Dweomer, and make of him a mage?’

Golophin found his bitter reply dying in his mouth. Despite himself, he was fascinated. Bardolin smiled.

‘Think of the progress this army of mages can make in the pursuit of pure knowledge, given all the materials they need, allowed to proceed in peace with their studies. Golophin, for the first time in history, the bowels of the Library of St Garaso in Charibon have been opened up and laid bare. There are treatises and grimoires down there that predate the First Empire. They have been sealed away by the Church for centuries, and now they are finally being studied by those who can understand them. I have seen a first edition of
Ardinac’s Bestiary—’

‘No! They were all destroyed by Willardius.’

Bardolin laughed, and threw his hands up in the air. ‘I’ve seen it, I tell you! Golophin, listen to me, think about this. Imagine what a mind like yours, allied to that of Aruan, could mean for the progress of learning, both theurgical and otherwise. An eighth Discipline is only the beginning. This is a precious opportunity, a crux of history right here and now, with the bats squeaking round our ears in the hills north of Torunn. It may be there are things about our regime that you find distasteful - no man is perfect, not even Aruan. But damn it all, our motives are pure enough. To lead mankind down a different path.

‘At this time, there is a fork in the road. Man can either follow what he terms as science, and develop ever more efficient means of killing, and build a world where there is no place for the Dweomer, and which will eventually see its death. Or he can embrace his true heritage, and become something entirely different. A society can be created in which theurgy is part of daily commerce, and learning is treasured above the soot-stained tinkering of the artisan. At this point in history, mankind must choose between these two destinies, and that choice will be made in a tide of blood, because that is the way of revolutions. But that, regrettable though it may be, does not make the choice invalid.

‘Join us, Golophin, in the name of God. Perhaps we can spare the world some of that bloodletting.’

The two men stared intently across the fire at one another. Golophin could not speak. For the first time in his long life he did not know what to say.

‘I’m not asking you to decide now. But at least think about it.’ Bardolin rose. ‘Aruan has been away from Normannia a long time. It is a foreign country to him. But that is not true for us. Learned though he is, we possess a familiarity with this world of today that he lacks. He respects you, Golophin. And if your conscience still niggles, think on this: I am convinced you would have more influence over his deeds as a counsellor and friend rather than as an antagonist.

‘As for me, my friend you have always been, and yet remain - whatever you might choose to believe.’

Bardolin rose to his feet with the smooth alacrity of a much younger man. ‘Think about it, Golophin. At least do that. Farewell.’

And he was gone, only a slight stirring in the air, a faint whiff of ozone to mark his passing. Golophin did not move, but stared into the firelight like a blind man.

Ten

The Bladehall was crowded, bubbling with talk that rose to the tall roof beams in a babble of surmise. Virtually every senior officer in the country was present with the exception of Aras of Gaderion, but he had sent a staff officer-cum-courier to represent him and to inform the High Command of recent events at the gap.

The King entered without ceremony, limping a little as he always did when he was tired. It was common knowledge about the palace that most nights lately he slept in a chair by the Queen’s bed. She was very low now, and would not last more than a few more days. Only the day before, a formal embassy had been sent out to Aurungabar on her express orders, and the court was still in a feverish frenzy of speculation as to what it might signify. It was as well to steer clear of the King, though. His temper, never particularly equable, had become truly savage of late.

The hall hushed as he entered, flanked by General Formio and a tall, horribly scarred old man in travel-stained robes who bore a haversack on one shoulder. Corfe’s personal bodyguard, Felorin, brought up the rear, watching the stranger’s back warily. The little group came to a halt in front of the map-table and Corfe scanned the faces of the assembled officers. They were staring at his aged companion with avid curiosity.

‘Gentlemen, I would like to introduce you to the mage Golophin of Hebrion, one-time chief advisor to King Abeleyn. He is here with tidings from the west which take precedence over all other matters for the moment. Golophin, if you please.’

The old wizard thanked Corfe and then stared at the hungry faces which surrounded him much as the King had done. His mellifluous voice was without its customary music as he spoke.

‘King Abeleyn of Hebrion is dead, as is King Mark of Astarac, and Duke Frobishir of Gabrion. The great naval armament which they commanded is destroyed. The fleet of the westerners has made landfall in Hebrion, and that kingdom has surrendered to the foe.’

A second of stunned silence, and then everyone began talking at once, a tumult of horrified exclamations, questions lost in the clamour. Corfe held up a hand and the noise tailed away. The Torunnan King’s face was grey as marble.

‘Let him continue.’

Golophin, unbidden, had filled a glass from the decanter on the table, and drained it at a draught. He smelled of wood-smoke, sweat, and another evocative stink much like the charged air of a thunderstorm. A vein throbbed like a blue worm in the hollow of one temple.

‘Himerian troops are on the march. They are riding out from Fulk, down both sides of the Hebros towards Imerdon and the northern Hebrionese coast. An army has crossed from Candelaria into East Astarac and has defeated the Astarans in the foothills. Garmidalan is about to stand siege, if it is not besieged already. And if my information is correct, another Himerian army is making for the passes of the Malvennors as we speak, to take Cartigella from the rear.’

‘How do you know all this?’ General Comillan asked, his thick moustache bristling like a besom.

‘I have a - a reliable source in the Himerian camp.’

‘Won’t they at least put up some resistance?’ one Torunnan asked incredulously.

‘Not in Hebrion. It has been agreed that there will be no pillage, no sacking of Abrusio, in exchange for a bloodless occupation. In Astarac the military has been caught off-guard, as have we all. They are in full retreat westwards. The garrison of Cartigella is capable enough, though, and will probably stand siege under Cristian, the Crown Prince.’ Golophin filled his glass again, peered into it as though it were hemlock, and tossed it off.

‘But Cartigella’s fall is only a matter of time.’

‘Gentlemen,’ Corfe said softly, ‘we are at war. The general mobilisation is under way. I signed the Conscription Decree not half an hour ago. As of now, this kingdom is under martial law, and every able-bodied man in the country is being called to the colours. No exceptions. Comillan, Formio, in the morning you will begin processing the first batch of conscripts. I want them knocked into shape as quickly as possible. Comillan, the Bodyguard will act as the kernel of the new training cadre—’

‘Sir, I protest.’

‘Your protest is noted. Colonel Heyd, I am drawing up a command for you which you will take north to reinforce Aras within two days. Colonel Melf.’

‘Sir?’

‘You also are to have an independent command. Once the Merduk contingents arrive from Aurungabar you will set off, and take it south, to the port of Rone. Your area of operations will be the southernmost foothills of the Cimbrics, where the mountains come down to the Levangore itself. The enemy may well try to sneak a column round our southern flank that way. You will be liaising with Admiral Berza.’

‘Sir!’ Melf, a tall, lean man who looked like a peasant farmer, beamed.

‘What of the main body of the army, sir?’ Formio asked.

‘It will remain here in Torunn for the time being, under my command. That means the Cathedrallers, your Orphans Formio, and the Bodyguard, of course. Ensign Roche, my apologies for keeping you waiting. What news from Aras?’

The young officer seemed to gulp for a second, then jerkily proffered a dispatch case. ‘Sir—’

‘Read it out, if you please. All present needs must hear it.’

Ensign Roche flipped off the lid of the leather tube and unrolled the paper within. He cleared his throat. ‘It is dated six days ago, sir.

‘ “Corfe, I write in haste and without ceremony. The bearer of this dispatch will give you a fuller picture of conditions up here than my penmanship ever can. He has experienced them first-hand. But you must know this - we have been swept out of the plains entirely by a large-scale advance of the enemy. Not one patrol can be sent out without encountering huge numbers of the foe, and in the past week we have lost heavily in men and horses. I have been tempted to essay a large-scale sally myself, but prefer to wait for your approval before attempting so major an operation. The Finnmarkans and Tarberans are still not yet up, thanks to our bridge-burning, but the Himerians have numbers enough without them it seems. I would hazard that they have already stripped Charibon of much of its garrison. They mean to take Gaderion, that much is plain.

“There is more. We are encountering something new, something which the bearer will be able to inform you of more fully. These
Hounds,
as they are called - they are beasts of some kind, or men that can become beasts at will. The rumours have been flying about the continent for years, as we all know, but I have had patrols, demi-tercios of good men, slaughtered like rabbits by these things, always in the night, half-glimpsed. Our intelligence-gathering is nonexistent now. I believe that soon we will be under siege.

“Man for man, we are better soldiers than the foe, but this new thing we do not know how to fight, and there are no Dweomer-folk about to advise us. I need reinforcements, but also I need a way to fight back. I need to know how to kill these things.

“Officer Commanding Gaderion, Nade Aras.”’

There was a concussive silence, as though the wind had been taken out of all their mouths. Corfe spoke first. ‘Ensign Roche, you have encountered these things General Aras speaks of?’ ‘I have, sir.’

Corfe flapped a hand impatiently. ‘Tell us.’

Briefly, tonelessly, Roche recounted the fate which had befallen his patrol two sennights before. The attack of the fearsome, half-seen beasts, the death of his sergeant.

‘We found the bodies in the wood after it had gone, sir.

They had been torn into pieces, twelve men. We had only heard that one shout. We saddled what horses remained, doubled up in the saddles and made our way back into Gaderion that same night.’

‘You left the bodies unburied?’ Comillan snapped.

Roche ducked his head.
I
am afraid so, sir. The men were panicked, and I—’

‘It’s all right, Ensign,’ Corfe said. He turned to the old mage who stood at his side listening intently. ‘Golophin, can you enlighten us?’

The wizard sighed heavily and stared into his empty glass. ‘Aruan and his cohorts have been experimenting for years, perhaps centuries. They have taken normal men and made them into shifters. They have taken shifters and twisted them into new forms. They have bred unnatural beasts for the sole purpose of waging war, and these are now being unleashed upon the world. They destroyed the allied fleet, and now they will take part in the assault upon Torunna.’

‘I ask you Aras’s question: how do we kill these things?’

‘It’s quite simple. Iron or silver. One nick from a point or a blade made of either and the Dweomer which flows through the veins of these creatures has its current disrupted, and they die instantly.’

Corfe seemed slightly incredulous. ‘That’s it?’

‘That’s it, sire.’

‘Then they are not so fearsome after all. You hearten me, Golophin.’

‘The swords and pike-points of the army are made of tempered steel,’ Formio said wryly. ‘They will not bite, it seems. Nor will the lead of our bullets.’ He looked quizzically at the old wizard.

‘Correct, General.’

‘We must get the smithies busy, then,’ Corfe broke in. ‘Iron blades and pike-points. And I’m thinking maybe some kind of iron barbs which can be fitted on to armour. We’ll make of every man a deadly pincushion, so that if these things so much as lay a paw on him, they’ll send themselves off to hell.’

The mood in the Bladehall lightened somewhat, and there were even some chuckles. The news from the west was bad, yes, but Hebrion and Astarac were not Torunna, and Abeleyn was no Corfe. The very sea itself might be subjugated to the will of Aruan and his cohorts, but there was no force on earth that would stop the Torunnan army once it had begun to march.

‘Gentlemen,’ Corfe said then, ‘I believe you all know your duties for now, and Lord knows there’s enough to be getting on with. You are dismissed. Ensign Baraz - you will stay behind.’

‘Corfe,’ Formio said in a low voice, ‘have you thought any more on our discussion?’

‘I have, Formio,’ the King replied evenly, ‘and while you make very valid points, I believe that the possible gains outweigh the risks.’